Along Came a Spider
by goldenEY3
Summary: When Amélie Lacroix was kidnapped by Talon, they brainwashed her into becoming Widowmaker. They made her kill her husband, and pushed her back into her mind, becoming a simple voice to Widowmaker. But they forgot to take away her second love in life: Lena Oxton. Amélie will use that love to sabotage Widowmaker before she fades away for good.
1. Chapter 1

**A Previous Life**

Amélie sat at her dressing table, staring at her ring.

It was made of thin gold, pressed to pure, delicate form with thin lines of platinum crisscrossing at even intervals, and was the perfect size for her finger. A delicate sapphire was embedded in the ring, only minutely jutting from the shiny metal. It didn't have any kind of backing; it was suspended in the ring, held in place by the same delicate platinum that wrapped around the ring. With every ray of light that hit it, it shined with a light blue color.

The craftsmanship was truly astounding. It was crafted by an Omnic, a strange mixture of a truly handmade item, and the perfection of a machine. Its beauty took her breath away. Amélie handled it with both care, love, and regret.

There was a knock at her door.

"Come in, Lena."

The door opened, and the dark-haired Brit poked her head in.

"How'd ya know it was me?" Lena asked.

Amélie could hear the forced humor in her voice. Lena was trying to appear as her regular old self: joyful, upbeat, and ever playful. Amélie knew her well, and knew when she was trying to cover something up.

"I just knew."

"Oh, ya mean your famous intuition?" Lena said, stepping into the room properly. Amélie saw the swagger she walked with; it was another façade. She wore matching trousers and vest, a deep brown color with thin white pinstripes, perfectly fitted. A bolt of pain lanced through Amélie's heart. Lena always looked good, but she looked even better when she dressed as sharp as she did.

Looking at her vest and pants, the pain seemed to redouble. It was the outfit Amélie had bought for her birthday last year.

"That's right," Amélie said, making herself smile. Lena wasn't the only one in pain.

"So what's your intuition sayin' now, love?" Lena leaned, almost sat, at the edge of the dressing table.

"That you are in pain."

That got Lena to stop. Even her carefully held smile fell, and Amélie knew how long Lena could hold that endearing grin.

"Lena, I-"

"I heard a rumor going around," she said. "That Gérard gave you something."

Amélie looked at the ring in her hand.

"It's awfully pretty, isn't it?" Lena said.

"Lena, please."

"Please what, love? Please excuse you for taking a ring from him?"

"Lena, you are hurt. I know that. Please do not make this harder than it already is."

"You know, I was looking at rings too," she said. Amélie bit her lip. "You know how much you mean to me, and I know how much I mean to you."

"Lena…"

"Then I hear that you went and took a ring from Gérard. How do you think that makes me feel?"

"Lena, you know me," Amélie said. "You know how much I love you, and how much I love Gérard."

"So that's supposed to make me feel better about how you said you'd marry him?" Lena said.

"Non," Amélie said. "Non, I knew there is nothing that would make you feel better about that. But—"

"So why'd you agree to marry him?" Lena pressed. Amélie couldn't look her in the eyes. She saw the pain that was in them, and she couldn't stand knowing that no matter what she did, someone would be hurt. "Why'd you say yes? I thought you loved me."

The pain lessened, if only because of a growing coal of anger.

"Lena, you are hurt," she said. "I know that. But that does not mean that you can say such hateful things."

"What, can't us spurned lovers snap at each other a little?"

"Dammit, Lena, I love you," she yelled. "I love you more than life itself. And you should know that I love Gérard the same way. Merde, Gérard knows about you, he knows about the love I have for you, how much love I have for the _both_ of you! So do not go saying that I cannot love you, you know that is simply not true."

Lena met her glare, but relented, as if she had realize what she said, and if she could take back what was said.

"I wasn't lying about the ring," she mumbled. "I had one picked out and everything. Spent days looking for it. I was just waiting for my next paycheck to clear."

"Lena, I am so sorry."

Amélie was surprised, but glad, that Lena let her take her hands.

"It just…it just feels like these past few years haven't meant anything," Lena said. "Like we didn't have something."

"Lena, chérie, we do have something," she said. "Remember what I told you, about what my mother said about me?"

"About how so damn filled with love you were?" Lena chuckled. "Hard to forget that. You said you loved me then."

"And that has not changed. But my mother did not just say how filled with love I was, it was that I was so filled with so much love that it could not be contained to just one person. I love you, and I also love Gérard. I do not love Gérard more than you, and I do not love you more than Gérard. Both of you are the loves of my life. I have never loved anyone so much as I love the both of you."

"Then why did you say 'yes' when Gérard asked you to marry him?" Lena asked.

Amélie had been thinking of what to say. She had been thinking of how to express herself, how to describe her feelings, how to make Lena see. She had promised herself she would be articulate, but as she spoke, she could feel the promise break.

"Because it would not be fair to him," she mumbled. "Or to you."

"So now it's back to what's fair?" Lena laughed.

"Non, non, non, that is not what I meant," she stammered. "Would you be able to love Gérard?"

"Think you know the answer to _that,_ love."

"And he would not be able to love you, too. But both of you would have to love each other if all of us were to stay together. Do you remember how those dates have went, when it was all three of us?"

"Wish I didn't."

"Can you imagine living like that? Can you imagine that being your every day? Because that is how it was for the longest time, and neither of you enjoyed it. And if you truly wanted me, that is how our lives together would have to be."

Lena was quiet. She let Amélie continue to hold her hands.

"That is why I said 'yes' to Gérard. What we have is amazing and great, but it cannot continue. I want the both of you, but the both of you cannot live with each other. It had to end, Lena. It simply would not work with all of us. I love the both of you, but you cannot love each other."

"And if I got you that ring before Gérard…?"

"Lena, please, you cannot do this to yourself," Amélie said. "You cannot spend all of your time thinking about 'what if-s' and 'could have been-s.' Please, if you truly love me, you will not do that to yourself."

It looked as if Lena would cry. But she held onto that British stiff upper lip, and was able to regain her composure.

"You know, I came here to try and talk about one thing, but ended up talking about something completely different," she chuckled. "I didn't want to fight you, you know?"

"Lena, you do not have to apologize. You needed this, whether you knew it or not."

"And the heart gets what the heart wants, doesn't it?"

Lena was quiet for a long time. Amélie let her be as quiet as she wanted.

"I guess I should congratulate you, then," Lena said. "Not every day someone asks you to marry them."

"You do not have to if you do not want to. I know this is painful for you."

"No, I have to. So congrats."

Amélie could feel the tears come. She thought she'd be the one to hold everything together.

"I…I just want…can I say one last thing?" Lena asked.

"Anything for you."

"Would there ever be a chance for us…?"

"Maybe in another life, ma chérie."


	2. Chapter 2

**Present**

An alarm buzzed, and Widow was quick to slap it off. I was always loathe to get up; I was never a morning person, or one who needed a single alarm to wake me. But Talon needed a soldier who was easy to wake up; they had changed that for Widow when they made her.

The alarm was a simple smartwatch. It buzzed for one second, and Widow was awake. That meant that I was awake, too.

That meant that I had to see another life be taken.

Widow had fallen asleep in a plenum space of an office building, shifting her weight haphazardly over several thin metal bars that held the dropped ceiling in place. The office building was closed for the weekend, so any noise she made went unheard.

Mon Dieu, please, someone had to hear her, someone has to stop her. A janitor, a man trying to climb the ladder and impress his bosses by working on the weekend, someone who could have called the police. I cannot stand to see this again.

Widow pressed a button on the smartwatch. There was a gentle click as the receiver in her ear activated. It was a surgical implant, with no wires running to or from it.

"Widowmaker, in position," she said.

 _Have you been spotted?_ A Talon man said.

"Negative, cover still holds."

 _Excellent. Target is scheduled to approach the killzone within ten mikes._

"Roger. Out."

Widow killed the line, and gently brought her rifle to her shoulder.

Why did they do this to me? Why would they even _want_ to do this to me? I used to be Amélie, but they went and broke me, strapped me to a Chair, hooked me up to computers and blasted me from my own brain, turned me into some kind of monster. I used to be alone in my head, but now this damned Widow is in control. They turned me into some kind of unconscious voice in my own head.

Earlier in the evening, Widow had taken a small drill to the wall, large enough for her rifle barrel to poke through. She kept the barrel in the building, though; I may not be Widow, but I had all the knowledge of shooting that she did. If she poked the barrel through the wall, it would stick out the building. Someone might spot it.

I wished she would. I wished she would slip up. I couldn't stand to see what happened next.

The building she was in was a simple office building. But the building next door was a UN embassy. And Talon wanted a man dead.

Widow waited. She was more patient than I could have ever been. But I knew that the man was coming, the man she was programmed to kill. She activated her recon visor, seeing through the wall of the building.

I begged her; you don't have to do this.

Widow ground her teeth. She was annoyed with me.

There were cars that drove by the road, but only one that stopped in front of the UN building. One that matched the picture that Widow had memorized.

A door was opened, and Widow's heart started beating a little faster. I could feel the trigger under her finger. It was set to a very light weight, requiring little to no effort to squeeze, but she was at the dead zone; trigger pulled, but not tripped.

Please, you cannot.

"Tais-toi, Amélie," Widow barked.

A figure stepped out of the car. It was a woman, not the target.

He has a wife! His wife is with him!

Widow's finger lifted from the trigger. In the visor, we could see the woman, his wife, kiss him on the cheek.

The memory hits me. It might even get to Widow.

* * *

" _I hereby pronounce you, man and wife," the priest said. "You may now kiss the bride."_

 _Gérard lifts the veil from my face. I love him so much._

" _The first of many," he promises me with a smile, and then he finally kisses me._

* * *

It does get to Widow. She grits her teeth; I can feel the programmed hatred burning in her. To get her to kill Gérard, to overcome my love of him, they made Widow hate him; her hate was blind, violent and passionate. The perfect counter to my love.

Please, you ca not, not with his wife there. Je t'en prie, don't.

Widow paused. I got her to pause.

The man and his wife are flanked by security men. They are walked towards the UN building. The door opened, and he was welcomed in.

He is safe.

The rifle cracks, and the man's head snaps, spraying blood, brains and skull fragments. His body hits the ground just as his wife screams bloody murder.

Talon was thorough in their mental reconditioning of me. They burned out anything and everything that made me me, that made me a person, and replaced it with everything that was needed to make me a killing machine, to make Widow.

They burned out my ability to feel happiness, sadness and disgust. They re-built my body to use less oxygen, for my heart to beat slower. They re-wired my brain so the only pleasure I felt was the joy of a kill.

Widow laughs. I laugh. It was a beautiful shot.

I try to hate myself for it, but Talon has taken that from me, too.

Widow breaks through the drop ceiling. There is no one in the building, she has made sure of it. She runs for the evacuation zone, where the Talon get-away car will be waiting for her. We are both laughing at the kill; it has sent electricity through our shared body, exciting us beyond anything Widow had ever felt, or that I had experienced.

Oh mon Diue, please stop this.


	3. Chapter 3

Talon likes their buildings very well lit. The lights are bright and nearly blinding to my enhanced eyesight. I find it annoying, verging on painful, but Widow is used to it. To her, she was born here, molded into what she is now.

Talon intelligence agents lead Widow to a room, and waiting for us is the Reaper, dressed from head to toe in black, with a stark white mask. Part of me knows that I should be scared of such a man, but fear is yet another part of me that Talon had long burned away.

"Reaper," Widow says.

"Widow," Reaper says.

"It is not every day that you swing by here," Widow said. "What is the occasion?"

"Overwatch," he growls.

"Hm." Widow had noticed that Reaper is cherishing his side. Talon has made her very observant. "So that is why you have that limp, non? Has that little plan to steal the whereabouts of their agents gone awry?"

"It was dumb luck," Reaper says. He doesn't talk fast, but both of us know that the loss chaffs at him.

"Really?" Widow smiles.

"Yes. Now be quiet. We have a new goal."

"'We' as in you or me, or…?"

" _Talon_ has a new goal," Reaper snarls. "Winston has recalled Overwatch."

This catches my attention. Not just Widow's, but mine.

"Well, this makes our job easier, non?" Widow says. "If Overwatch recalls all their agents, it puts them in one nice little basket. And that is if the UN does not arrest them all for breaking the Petras Act."

"It's a chance we cannot take," Reaper says.

"Does this mean we will be going hero hunting?" Widow grins.

"Yes, it does."

"So, what is our next target?" She asks, breathing heavily. She enjoys this.

"First, we wait. See who answers the call," Reaper says. "Then we plan the trap."

* * *

 _The bullets hits us in the face, but the recon visor is able to deflect it; it does not break our skin, but it hurts like hell._

 _Rage is one of the few emotions that Talon let me keep, and Widow is awash in it. She grinds my teeth, and brings her rifle to bear._

 _I can see Ana in the scope, her eyes wide in shock. She has seen me._

 _Oh, Ana, why could you not have killed me?_

 _The bullet punches through the scope, hitting her in the eye. Blood sprays behind her, and she falls to the ground._

 _The sense of joy and satisfaction is amplified by the pain._

" _No one escapes from the huntress," Widow spits._

* * *

The memory of killing Ana keeps Widow and I feeling alive. She thinks about it as she goes to sleep in her assigned room, and it pleasures her. I feel everything she feels, and I try to hate myself for it, but Talon has made sure that I cannot hate myself.

Finally, she is asleep, and the nightmare is paused. I can only truly be myself when Widow is asleep. But for all the good it will do me, I still cannot take back my body. Talon is too smart to even allow for such a possibility to happen. The most I can do is peer into her dreams, but I learned long ago that she only dreams of her kills. That is all she does; she lays perfectly still, and dreams of killing.

I took a quick peek into her sleeping mind. With us sharing the same head, it was easy. The only thing I could see was of the woman becoming a new widow, of the blood and brains that stained her clothes.

I retreat, recoiling from her mind. Such hate…

But here, in my subconscious, I am myself. That means that no one else has to die; at least today. I am trapped in my mind, with only my memories to keep me company, but I will take the boredom over the killing any day.

I try not to think about how Talon and Widow are slowly squeezing me out. A head can only hold so many minds, and their effort to erase me has not ended. It will only continue. I have already lost so many memories to Widow; I cannot remember most of my schooling, traveling for college, and the early years of Overwatch.

At least, I think I do not. There are massive gaps in my head of what I can only assume were memories of a certain time. I go from a little girl to a young adult; I was missing the teenage years of my life. They must have taken that from me.

If you take away a person's memory, you take away their sense of self. Soon, all my memories would be gone, and there will be very little making me Amélie.

But of course, I can still remember killing Gérard, either because it was Widow's first kill, or some sick prank that Talon likes to use on me.

I try to remember what I can, to see how much of me is gone.

* * *

 _The attic looms ahead of me. There is a dress in there, a pretty dress for fancy occasions. They should be kept there until they are needed, but I am a little girl, and I want it._

 _I push the door to the attic open, and cough from the dust. Sunlight streamed in through the window, leaving wide beams that I could dance through. And dance through them I did. The eeriness never registered to me back then. It was there, in the back of my mind, but that dress was so pretty, and I wanted it._

 _The armoire loomed over me, and I pulled open the heavy doors. There, hanging amongst the other cloths, was the dress. It was a royal blue with lace on the cuffs, hem and neckline. I pulled it down and held it up to me._

 _It was just so pretty._

 _Something brushed my arm. Little me unconsciously tried to shake it off. But the strange brushing feeling stayed with me. Then there was something on my neck, one on my other arm, there were strange brushing feelings all over me._

 _I looked at my arm, and a giant spider was crawling over me._

 _Little me shrieked and flung the dress away, trying to shake the spider free. But it held tight. I looked to my other arm, and there were two spiders clinging to me. I screamed louder, swatting at the damned things. Something tickled my ear, and I was thrashing, trying to get the spiders off me._

 _But they clung on._

* * *

My parents found me trying to swat myself to death. Of course, Talon had burned the fear clean from my head; the memory meant nothing to me now.

But it was my memory. Not Widow's, but mine. It also meant that I was a girl, a real person. I tried to think back to Gérard, just to see if I still remembered when I met him.

Blinding hatred filled me. Hatred implanted by Talon. They knew the only way for me to kill him would be to make me hate him, to turn that deep love into savage hate. It turned him from my husband, to my target, to Widow's first victim.

Talon has taken everything from me. They took my love, and then his life. They were taking my memories, the very essence of my being, and soon they would have all of me.

Even if I could be scared, such a prospect had not bothered me in such a long time. It was a slow death, one that I knew was coming. It was simply a way of life for me now.

My thoughts drifted, and I ended up thinking back to when I first met that pretty little British girl with the brown hair.

The hate in my heart lifted.

Talon had taken everything from me. I only had hate, and the pleasure of killing. But this feeling was different.

What made that happen? I dug through my memory, looking for the feeling.

* * *

 _The sun is shining down from the skies. There are no clouds, but the wind is keeping the day from becoming too hot. I am wearing a sun dress, walking by men and women in dress uniforms. They are the men and women of Overwatch, and they seem to be part of the ceremony opening another Overwatch station in Paris._

 _I have a basket in my hands. I'm shopping. At least I was, until I saw the Overwatch men and women gathering. They are heroes, fighting the Omnic Crisis, and have only recently thrown the Omnics out of Paris. The Eiffel Tower is still badly battered, but it stands on._

" _Excuse me."_

 _I turn. A pretty little woman is walking up to me. Her French is good, far better than most visitors. I can tell from her accent that she is foreign. The badge on her uniform shows her a British._

" _I was wondering…I'm a little lost," she says meekly. "I'm supposed to meet with some friends at a little café. I'm running late. "_

" _Oh, of course," I smile. The pretty little thing seems to light up. "What is the café's name?"_

" _Le Petit Soleil."_

" _You've passed it. It is the one on the corner there," I say, pointing behind her._

" _Oh, it can't be! I've walked passed that a million times!" The woman groans. "I've even peered in, looking for them, but they're not there."_

" _Perhaps your friends got the name wrong."_

" _More like they ditched me for the 'local flavor,' if you get my drift," she sighs._

" _Well, the Omnics_ were _just thrown out."_

" _Yea, but still." The woman looks at me, trying to say something. "If I'm not interrupting, maybe I can get you something to thank you for your time? A drink, maybe?"_

" _If there is anyone who should be buying a drink, it should be me," I laugh. "To show my appreciation for saving my city and country."_

" _Too early for the country, love. Omnics still control most of the east. But I'll drink to the city. My name is Lena."_

" _Amélie."_

* * *

My mind is reeling. I remembered everything about that day. The warm rays of the sun, the cheers of the crowd, the men and women kissing in the street, and the loveliness of Lena.

But above all, I felt the affection, the love. I felt the warm feeling well from my heart. I felt something other than hate and the kill-pleasure.

How could this happen? Talon took everything from me. They molded me into Widow, a heartless killer.

Non, not heartless. Ruthless, but not heartless. She and I still felt joy. It was only when we killed a person, but it was joy. Her passion was death, and they made her seek it out. Each hunt brought her joy, and by extension, to me as well.

They did not take away my love. They tainted my love of Gérard with blind hate, but they never truly stopped me from loving.

Mother was right; there _was_ too much love in me. Too much love for one person, too much for Talon to simply erase. They could not take away my love for Lena. But why did they forget that, forget her? They _had_ to know about us. Did they forget about her? Was Gérard their only target? Was Lena not as big of a target? Did they not care about her? Did they think if they made me hate Gérard, I would simply hate Lena as well?

It did not matter. Talon did not take away my love for Lena, and as Reaper said, they would soon be looking for Overwatch, and with them, Lena.

I tingled with joy. I was hunting, and my prey was Widow herself.

I had my weapon to stop her.


	4. Chapter 4

_All units, leave the package unattended,_ Widow said on the radio.

"Now let us see the girl fall for the trap," Widow whispered to herself. Or was she talking to me?

Overwatch was back, and in the weeks since they were reformed, the UN did not arrest them. It helped that Russia withdrew their support from the Petras Act, but miracles like that could not be counted on.

Lena was stalking us for information, just as our scouts had reported. We were to give her an opening, a piece of dummy intelligence, something she would never be able to turn down.

And when she grabbed the briefcase, we will attack her. We will pin her down, draw out more Overwatch agents, and then the real killing would begin. It meant that my hunt for Widow would start.

 _Package in the open,_ the Talon men said. _All units in position._

Widow's heart beat slow and steady. But I was nervous. I had spent weeks combing my memories, finding anything that had Lena in it. And of course, I was waiting. Waiting for the perfect opportunity. This was it.

We were in southern France, a short flight from Watch Point Gibraltar. That just meant that Overwatch would be quicker to arrive.

A blue blur zipped through the streets. Widow tracked it, but kept her finger from the trigger.

Lena.

 _Bait is taken,_ she said. _Open up on her_.

Gunfire broke out, but the Talon men were attempting to suppress Lena, not kill her.

As usual, Lena played with fire. She flittered from cover to cover, her time displacement powers keeping her just ahead of the bullets.

 _Pin her down,_ Widow said. She waited patiently for more Overwatch members to arrive.

 _She's sounded the alarm,_ one Talon man said. _Got a burst of radio traffic over known Overwatch frequencies. She's calling for help._

 _Excellent. Keep her pinned as much as possible; when backup arrives, give them a warm welcome._

Widow shifted her weight in the tower she was positioned in. She kept track of where Lena was running, ready to move when necessary.

But Lena was playing into Widow's, and Talon's, hands. She ended up pinned in a little shack in the middle of a small square; the perfect killing ground.

She fought back, peppering Talon men with her pistols. But she was waiting for backup, as were we.

Soon, a ship flew in. It landed blocks away.

 _Overwatch ship landed,_ a Talon man said.

 _Roll out the welcome mat,_ Widow grinned.

Now they were looking to kill. That meant that Lena was in true danger from Widow.

That meant it was time for me to hunt.

Widow scanned the building, looking for Lena. She found her, leaning out of the window, trying to gun down a Talon operative.

The crosshair danced over her head. Widow held her breath, and her finger touched the trigger.

I pushed the memory to the very forefront of my mind, giving it to Widow. If I had a body, if I had a voice, I would be screaming this memory.

* * *

" _Amélie!"_

 _I had not even been in the bar for a second and Lena was already calling out to me. I saw her almost bouncing at the bar; she had ordered one of those bitter British beers she loved, but had a nice glass of white wine waiting for me._

" _Have you missed me?" I asked, walking over to her._

"' _Course I have, love!"_

" _Mon Diue, it was only been three days since our last date."_

" _Three days too many," she laughed, raising her glass. I cheered her, and sipped at the wine. Her smiled had faltered, but only a little._

" _Something is wrong," I said._

" _How can you tell?"_

" _My intuition," I smiled. "It is written on your face."_

" _Damn, you're good," Lena smiled. "Overwatch is calling us out. The Crisis is moving, so we move with it."_

" _You are going away?"_

" _Part of being in Overwatch, love. Gotta jump when they say jump."_

 _The three months we spent together had been more than incredible. I looked at her, and I could feel my heart swell._

" _Is there any chance that I could come with you?" I asked._

" _Come with? Amélie, we're going to war!"_

" _I am French, and we are a passionate people," I smiled. "I do not think I could simply let the woman I love leave me."_

 _Lena immediately blushes a deep and heavy red._

" _Y-you're not just sayin' that because Gérard and I are leaving?"_

 _I gently pull her close and kiss her deeply._

" _Does that feel like a kiss of convenience, ma chérie?" I smile. Poor little Lena is ready to totter out of her chair._

* * *

Widow squeezes the trigger too hard, too fast. The jerk pulled the rifle from its target, and the shot went wide. It hits the wooden frame by Lena's head; she yelps and jumps back to cover.

Widow is panting, gasping for breath. Her heart, normally so calm and steady, is beating like a jackrabbit.

"Q-Que se…?!"

She saw the memory! She felt it! My weapon worked! My love is still mine!

Widow tries to calm herself, to get her breathing and heart back under control. The battle is unfolding; she can see Overwatch agents moving in. She forces herself to look back into the scope.

On the ground, Lena is looking for the sniper. She looks up, and sees Widow.

Her eyes go wide; she recognizes me.

Through the scope, Widow can see her face.

I have another memory. I push it to her, scream it in my mind, and hope that Widow can see it as well.

* * *

 _We are outside the bar, standing in the entrance of a small ally._

 _I have Lena, beautiful little Lena, against the wall. Her arms are wrapped around me, holding me deep._

 _Our lips are locked, neither of us willing to let go. Every nerve is on fire, tingling with invisible electricity._

 _My love has lead me to this amazing woman._

 _She gently pushes me away. She breaks our kiss._

" _I-I have to come clean with you," she says._

" _What do you mean?"_

" _Remember when me met?" She asks. "About the café that I was trying to find? The one my friends stood me up at?"_

" _Yes?"_

" _Well…they didn't really stand me up," she mumbled, blushing. "I just wanted to talk to you, see if I could get your name and number, maybe a drink. I saw you, and I had to try. So I asked them to help me out; they ran from the café and hid."_

 _I couldn't help but laugh._

" _What? What's so funny?"_

" _I am glad you needed to talk to me," I said. "Do I need any other reason?"_

* * *

Widow is completely unprepared for my assault.

The memory makes our heart jump again, and her shot goes absolutely wild. Lena teleports away from the window, and Widow is left standing there, gasping for breath. Our fingers, our toes, everything is tingling; the memory of our kiss is powerful, powerful enough to stop Widow. Her rifle rattles in her hand.

The men and women of Overwatch arrive, just in time to rescue Lena. A woman is flying in the skies on a jet pack, shooting rockets. An old man with silver hair runs to Lena, grabbing the briefcase with dummy intelligence.

Down below, a large pink-haired woman with a canon shreds troops, and a little woman with brown hair starts a blizzard.

Mei? Is that Mei? She looks so young still.

 _A-all units, maintain pressure on target,_ Widow stammers. _She is a slippery little bitch._

But Overwatch is pulling back. They have Lena, they have the bait, and they are getting away.

 _We can't!_ A Talon man said. _They're too much for us! We've lost squads two, four, five and seven!_

Widow grinds her teeth.

 _All units, fall back,_ she says. _We need to regroup._

I can not feel joy; Talon took that from me. The only joy I can truly feel is when Widow kills someone.

But I am feeling love, _my_ love, and Widow is feeling it with me. That is enough.


	5. Chapter 5

"This is a goddamn embarrassment," Reaper snarled.

The room was filled with the Talon team leaders, as well as Reaper. He speaks to everyone, but looks at Widow. Our heart was pounding in our chest, and not just from being yelled at.

"We knew Tracer was shadowing us," he snarled in that deep, broken voice of his. "We knew where she was. We fed her all the information we knew would draw her out. We had killzones planned and laid out. This. Was. Easy."

Widow felt Reaper's gaze bore into her. Even through the mask, it did not save her.

"So…what happened?" Reaper demanded.

"My target saw me," Widow said.

"You know better than to let yourself be spotted," Reaper yelled. "How did she see you?"

"If I knew that, I would have fixed it," she snarled back. "She got lucky. That is all, oui?"

"'Non,'" Reaper snapped. "It's not that simple. So, what happened?"

"It, it was that damn teleporter," she had. "I could not draw a bead. She would be in one place, then jump to another. It…was aggravating."

I never felt Widow lie before. She was scared, scared that Reaper would find out, scared of something else. I did not know Widow could feel fear. No, it is not fear, but anxiety. Dread, even.

And it was not Reaper she was worried of, but instead, it was two things.

The first was an image, floating in her mind and filtered down to me. It was of a Chair, with worn leather straps for the wrist and ankles. It had a high back, and a headrest, with more thick, leather straps to bind one's head in place. Cables trailed from it, going from the headrest to a bank of computers.

All the while, a single word echoed through her brain: 'Treatment.'

I knew that Chair too well. It was the Chair that Talon used to erase me, to turn me into Widow. It was the Chair they used to train her, to re-program her, to make her this killing machine. It was the machine they used to break her and remold her.

And I knew the word. It was a conditioned word, a program buried deep into her brain to make her do whatever they wanted. One phrase, one mention of the Treatment, and Widow was helpless to it.

Maybe Talon took away our fear, but let her keep the feeling of dread to keep her in line. A dread of being rendered useless against the Treatment, and of being returned to the Chair, of being erased and remade.

Suddenly I felt sick to my stomach. Widow was scared of the Treatment, of the Chair. Both had made her, and could un-make her.

"You were briefed on her abilities," Reaper said. "Why didn't you compensate?"

"I am sorry, mon amie, are you a better shot than I?" She demanded. "Would you like to try and hit a teleporting target through a tiny ass window from across the square?"

Mon Dieu, if they could control us with a Treatment, send us back to the Chair…could they finally erase me? Could they finally delete all of my love?

Widow held Reaper's glare, until Reaper grunted.

"Now you know how slippery she is," he said. "Next time, I expect you to be better. Otherwise, it's time for your Treatment, and we'll make you into someone who's halfway competent."

The dread hit Widow like lightning. The Chair loomed in her head, the Treatment already working to bring her to heel.

"Do not worry," she said. It was an effort to keep her voice even. But she was picturing killing Lena in her head; it kept her focused. She held her hate deep in her chest. It was Lena that made her miss, and she was brimming with hate.

Fuck the Treatment and damn the Chair, that had to change. I screamed another memory at her.

"The next time Tracer shows her face—"

* * *

 _Lena's hair smelt of strawberries. It felt like silk in my hands, like the silk of the sheets of the bed I laid on. I felt each strand on my hands as I moved her down, off my breasts, and guided her further down._

* * *

"—Uh, i-it, it will be her last."

Widow's heart is racing again, and the electricity is dancing on her nerves, so different from the thrill of a kill, so much more intimate and pleasurable.

It was one of my favorite memories of Lena. I knew Widow would like it.

"Cat got your tongue?" Reaper chuckled. He had caught her pause from the memory.

With my new, cold blooded body, I did not know how well Widow would blush. But it felt like she was burning up.

"I have never missed a target," Widow snapped. "Never before."

"Get used to it. Tracer is not going to present herself to you like anyone else. She will know you're coming; act accordingly."

"Sir," Widow said, doing her best to breath easily.

"With Overwatch back, they will need to secure supplies. We have a lead; they're set to receive a shipment of arms from sympathetic merchants. They will be stopped. We move out tomorrow; the faster we nip them in the bud, the faster we can resume normal operations. Mission briefing in the morning. Dismissed."

Widow is first up and out the door, gripping her rifle with white knuckles. She is flushed, but I was sure no one could tell it with her blue skin. She holds herself tall, her face deadly serious. The Talon men can tell her pride is hurt, and give her a wide berth.

She storms through the base, passing Talon men and women, not just field mercenaries but also intelligence agents and scientists. She makes a bee-line to her room, and once she is in the little room, she locks the door.

She collapses against the door, her hands shaking.

The memories of Lena are swimming through her head, but the Chair looms over them all.

If I am to stop her, I will need to overcome that Chair. I ca not help but smile to myself; I have too much love, and many more memories to fight the Chair.

Widow sits there, barely moving. I can feel her mind race; she is thinking of the mission. She is thinking of the memory I pushed to her, of the feeling it gave to her.

It was a hell of a time and a place to first feel love.

I stay out of her head, keeping my memories to myself. I have to let her dwell on the memories I gave her. I could not give her a scare, I could not draw any more attention to me. She had to think it was her that was remembering this, not just me.

I can see her own memory of the fight drift through our head. The scope drifts, and the crosshairs fall on Lena's face. Then, out of nowhere, the memory blindsides her. Suddenly, Lena isn't just a target, she is a face. A beautiful, radiant face that carries a strange feeling, a feeling she had never felt before.

Hissing, Widow gets to her feet.

"This is…connerie," she spits. "This little bitch is my target."

She leaves her room, cradling her rifle. I know where she is going, I know what she plans to do.

Minutes later, we are in the gun range. She grabs an armful of ammunition and drops it at a stall. She taps at the hologram projector, and creates dozens of targets with Lena's face on them. They pop up, floating in air, and she swings her rifle around.

Each face floats in the scope, and she pulls the trigger. The holograms flash as the bullets pass through them, marking them as kill shots.

Her hands are shaking. And I am not doing anything.

She is remembering the love I felt for her, and if there is any justice in the world, she is feeling it herself.

Her rifle clicks on empty, and she grabs the next clip, sliding it home with practiced ease. She goes back to the targets. Her eyes are wet, and she tries to blink away the tears.

We are down there for what feels like hours. Eventually, Widow's rifle feels too heavy in her hands; she had been holding it at the ready for so long, our arms are dead tired. She is breathing heavy, but her heart races for another reason.

The holographic target computer spits out a piece of paper with her results.

Her accuracy is 68%. I've never seen it lower than 91%.

She shreds the paper, swallowing the pieces, and taps at the terminal, purging the score from the computer's memory. No one would know about this.

"I can kill this bitch," she says to herself. Even I can tell she is trying to convince herself she can.

* * *

 _The street sign is high off the ground. It isn't even a street sign, it's a plaque, a big, round, blue plaque. It takes my breath away._

 _221b Baker St._

" _How can you live with this so close to you?" I ask. "I would walk by this every day."_

" _You never get tired of walking passed it, love," Lena says._

" _First the book," I look at the thick-bound book in her hands, the one with a gold embossed picture of the famous detective on the cover, "and then I get to see where the legend actually lived."_

" _Pretty nice day, won't you say?"_

 _I take Lena's hand as they walk down the street._

" _With you, it's always a nice day."_

* * *

I don't know if the memory reaches Widow. With her asleep, it is hard to tell. But I can tell that, for once, she is at peace. Her heart beats slow and steady, and she is utterly relaxed, so different from any other night before a mission. Normally she is tense, dreaming of the kill and the thrill that Talon programmed into her, sleeping deep and still; she never moves.

And then, for the first time that I can remember, she rolls in her sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

The Talon ship flew through the air, skimming the waters of the Mediterranean. We were low, low enough to avoid radar. Low enough to reach out and touch the warm waters. The ship, our prey, was coming in to a port in Italy, a sympathetic nation. They wanted Overwatch back; that meant they were helping to arm them. Widow could see the Overwatch planes; Talon had enhanced her eye sight to make her a better killer.

Massive metal shipping containers were piled high, ready to be unloaded, their goods transferred to the Overwatch ships that were landed. The shipping containers were big, meaning they would block line of sight, but also would give a shooter a commanding field of view if one were to stand on top of them.

"Pick your targets," Reaper said from the front of the ship. Much like the Overwatch ships, the Talon ships were VTOL; they could land vertically, making them much better suited for assaults.

It was another reason why Blackwatch had failed; too little oversight.

"We kill as many Overwatch operatives as we can, but the cargo containers are the target. No one kill Morrison; he's mine."

Widow's heart beat faster; Lena was out there.

The ship banked sharply, making a bee-line to the port. The Talon men readied their weapons.

"Ground in ten."

The ship was flying in so low, it threatened to crash into the waves. But Widow was more worried about Tracer than crashing.

At the last second, it rose up, barely avoiding a crash into the concrete docks. It landed, and Widow jumped out first, landing on top of a container. Forty meters away, she could see the gathered Overwatch agents; they were meeting with Italian politicians, no doubt posing for photos.

She could see a man with silver hair pulling a VIP to safety. A massive, pink haired woman was bringing an equally massive canon to bear. A woman in a rocket suit was boosting, flying into the air.

But above all, Lena was there, popping into and out of existence in a blue streak.

She shot her grappling hook, aiming for a stack of four containers.

"Eyes are in the sky," she said, zipping to position. "I have a bead on Tracer."

 _Move, Talon,_ Reaper snapped on the radio. _Prep demo charges, Overwatch will not get those shipments one way or another._

Gunfire exploded; the battle was on. Now it was my turn.

* * *

 _The book store is quiet, and surprisingly full. With the Crisis in full swing, many people were there to escape from reality._

 _I looked up from her book. Lena was in a large, leather chair, leaning over the back, and staring at me._

' _What?' I mouthed._

' _You're beautiful,' Lena mouthed back._

 _The smell of old books and musty pages filled the air. I had heard Lena say it a million times, but with the warm smell of books, it seemed much more intimate._

 _My mother's words danced through my head._

You are so full of love, it cannot be contained to one person.

 _My mind drifted to-_

* * *

I had to concentrate to stop the memory. We had a fight when we left the store; Gérard had called me, and asked me to another date. I loved them both so much…

If Talon's conditioning held true, any thought of Gérard would make Widow burn with hatred. They did not take my love of Gérard; they poisoned it. I could not have that poison seep over to Lena.

Widow did not seem to mind, or even know that something happened. I could feel my warm love spreading through her as she brought her rifle to bear.

She could see Lena running through the rows of containers, winking into and out of existence. She jumped onto one container, then saw Widow.

Her face filled the scope. I knew that Widow had her dead to rights.

The trigger to her rifle was dialed to one-point-six kilograms; all it took was a simple twitch to end her life. But suddenly, the trigger felt as if it was made of pure, solid iron.

Widow couldn't pull the trigger. My love was filling her.

I was winning.

The scope jerked and the rifle cracked; the shot zoomed over Lena's head. Widow had missed, intentionally.

Lena wasted no time; she teleported across the containers, making a bee-line to her. She returned fire with her automatic pistols, but the shots weren't aimed anywhere near Widow. They were both intentionally missing each other.

 _Widowmaker her, I am under fire,_ Widow said on the radio. _Relocating._

She jumped from the top of the container to the lower level, out of sight of Lena. Not that it would last long.

Sure enough, Tracer popped into existence at the top of the container, and gave chase. Widow's rifle switched to automatic mode, and she laid down suppressive fire, just until she could get behind another container. We could both hear the popping of Lena's teleporting, and the staccato pops of her guns as she circled the container.

"Your aim is sloppy," Widow laughed as a burst flew over her head.

"Well, you sure ain't aimin' at me either, love!"

"'Love?' You think you know me, ma chérie?"

The gunfire stopped. Lena stopped. Neither of us could hear her step, or her teleport. The only sounds that could be heard were the distant gunfire.

"A-Amélie?"

Hate flared in Widow. No, not hate, but annoyance.

"Amélie is dead," she spat. "I am Widow, 'love.'"

Feet echoed on metal; Lena was approaching. Widow used the grappling hook to jump to a higher level, avoiding her.

"You sure about that? You called 'me chérie.'"

Lena followed Widow. There was a popping sound, meaning she teleported. But Widow had already jumped from the container, putting more distance between her. The grappling hook broke her fall, and she quietly ran through the containers.

Widow did not want to fight. Widow was running from her. My love was still winning.

"That does not change anything, chérie. You are my prey. And I get my prey."

"Aw, I'm flattered. You sure you can catch me, love?"

"More sure than you know, chérie."

Widow jumped to a higher level with her grappling hook. Lena was hot on our trail, we could feel it. We could feel her eyes drilling into our back. She was closing in on us.

Widow dashed across a few containers, then jumped down a level. Soon, Lena was lost, unable to follow us. Widow quietly climbed to a higher level, and began looking for her with her recon visor.

A massive explosion echoed through the port.

 _Objective complete,_ Reaper said on the radio. _All units, fall back._

"It looks like our little jaunt is coming to a close, chérie," Widow laughed. She was a level above Lena, easily tracking her with the visor. She waited until she was just above her before launching a venom mine behind her.

The mine exploded, and Lena immediately began coughing, utterly disoriented.

"L'araignée has her eyes out for you, ma chérie. Watch yourself."

Widow broke towards the Talon ship. The ship rose in the air; she was the last one. She fired her grappling hook, catching the ship and pulling herself on board.

"Any luck with Tracer?" Reaper asked.

"Oui," Widow said. "I am getting better at tracking her."

She looked over Reaper. Bullet holes had punched through his cloak, but his armor held true. No blood seeped out.

"It looks like you had as much fun as I did," she bluffed. "Tell me, were you able to kill anyone?"

"That pink-haired Russian can make barriers," Reaper spat. "If it wasn't for her, Morrison would be mine."

"Then we both learned something."

Reaper grunted.

Widow looked out the back of the plane. She knew she could not see Tracer, but she looked out longingly enough.

I am winning.


	7. Chapter 7

Widow gently turns over in her sleep. It means that she must be having a good dream. It means that I am still winning.

I must be breaking Talon's conditioning; I can actually feel happiness, or something close to it. Non, it makes sense. I am taking away her hatred and turning it to love, taking her drive to kill and replacing it with my passion.

I could not help myself; I had to know what Widow was dreaming about. Normally, I could not peak into her mind; she only dreamed of death.

But this time, there was no death.

* * *

 _The wind is blowing, not just a simple gust but a near gale. It is blowing so hard, the clouds are flying passed us. They go from one end of the horizon to the other in a matter of minutes, but there is not a smell of rain. If anything, it is drier than normal. Dry, warm, and windy. It is so windy, we can even see the Eiffel Tower gently sway._

 _I am screaming, not from fear or shock, but a laughing scream. Lena has her hands wrapped around mine, and we are both practically being pulled across the green fields of the Champ de Mars._

 _We are both holding on for dear life to the kite that Lena brought. It is a large kite, nearly a meter across. It is made from some tough, heavy kind of plastic, and it is holding its shape in the wind. Because it is not bending or breaking, it is catching the wind, and threatening to pull us into the sky with it._

" _Lena, please, let go," I shout. It is hard to scream and laugh at the same time, but somehow I find way to do it._

" _Can't let go, love! It's gettin' to the good part!"_

" _What good part?"_

" _The part where we nearly fly away!"_

" _You are mad!"_

 _Lena pushes my hands down, urging the kite higher into the sky. The kite soars, and the twine in my hand finally runs out. The spool threatens to tear itself away, but Lena and I hold onto it. The kite finally peaks, and our weight is able to keep us on the ground. The kite is in the sky, and appears perfectly still against the rapidly moving clouds._

" _See? Flying perfectly well there," Lena laughs._

" _You damn Brit, you planned this, did you?"_

" _Got me there, love. Still can't believe you never flew a kite before. What kind of childhood did you have?"_

" _According to you? The worst."_

 _Lena's arms are wrapped around me. I ca not let go of the spool, or the kite, but I nestle myself against her.  
_

* * *

I…I don't remember that.

Lena and I never flew a kite. But Widow was remembering it. How could she know that when I never did that?

Where did she get that memory?

Non, she must have gotten it from me; it could not have simply appeared out of thin air. But if I could not remember giving her that memory, what did that mean?

It meant that Talon was still erasing me. It still meant that my mind was no longer becoming my own. I was being driven out.

For a moment, I panicked. Then I remembered: I was already a dead woman.

Talon took my body, took my mind, and was steadily driving me out of my own head. I already knew that my memories were being erased, it was only a matter of time until I vanished.

The memories…I was not just reliving them, I was giving them to Widow. That is what made her spare Lena's life; it was my memories, and the love they carried.

If that is what it took to stop Widow, I would give her everything I had left.

* * *

Lena was running. Widow was watching her.

Talon was attacking Overwatch, but I could not remember for what. Something about Reaper wanting to go after Morrison. Reaper seemed obsessed with him.

Lena was laughing and jumping, popping into and out of places in a blue blur.

"Almost had me there, love!" She laughed.

She had such a pretty laugh. It sounded familiar, like I have heard it somewhere else.

"Stand still, ma chérie," Widow chuckled. She was shooting, but I had the feeling that she was missing on purpose. Like this was a game, a dance that both of them wanted, and never wanted to end.

Something about this seemed familiar, like they have done it before. But I could not put my finger on it.

Another memory floated to my mind. Something told me I had to give it to Widow, so I did.

* * *

 _Lena stood in the strange chamber. She tried to put a strange metal contraption on her chest, but when she was about to finish, she would mysteriously fade, and the contraption would fall to the ground._

" _Get back here, Lena," Winston grumbled, making adjustments at a computer._

…

" _Please, you must get her back," I begged._

" _I'm working as best I can,_ _Am_ _é_ _lie. Please, be patient," Winston said. "We know_ where _she will be, I'm just working on the_ when _she'll be."_

 _Finally, she popped back into existence, and she was able to put the strange device on._

" _Got it!" She yelled._

 _Winston pressed a button, and a blue light popped on, hovering at her sternum._

" _How do you feel?"_

" _Had a touch of vertigo there, but things got better," she said. "Whoa. My ears popped. Does that count?"_

…

" _Just some adjustments," Winston said._

 _I stood, wringing my hands. Lena stood there, waiting for something to happen. The minutes ticked by, but nothing happened._

" _I think we have something," Winston said._

 _She sat down, looking at me with those big, beautiful eyes of hers._

" _I'm still here, love," she smiled. "Can't get rid of me that easily."_

* * *

The memory skipped about, and ended abruptly. Parts of it were missing. I tried to remember more, tried to give more feeling to Widow, but she did not need it.

I could feel the love in her chest, the joy she felt at that memory. And, of course, the recoil of her gun.

"Come on, gotta try harder than that," Lena said.

She was moving so fast, she did not see the venom mine that Widow left for her. It exploded in a green cloud, and Lena doubled over, coughing and sputtering. She was helpless.

"Right back at you, ma chérie," Widow laughed.

Her radio squawked.

 _Units, fall back. Mission is complete, withdraw immediately._

"Ah. Time to go." She looked over at Lena, who was sprawled out on the ground. She blew her a kiss. "Until next time."

* * *

Another strange day, another strange fight. Time seemed to move in fits and starts, like I was forgetting entire days or weeks.

Talon did not start the fight, Overwatch did. They were…oh, I knew what they wanted, but I just could not place it. It was on the tip of my tongue. Or was it my tongue? It never seemed to move when I wanted it to.

That strange, lovely brown-haired woman was teleporting everywhere. How did she do that? A pop, a blur, a laugh, and she was somewhere else.

I tried to follow her, track her movements…non, I could not move my arms. Someone was moving them for me. How was this strange, blue-skinned woman doing that?

The scene seemed to blur, like it was segments of a larger thing, but it was like I was sleeping through parts of it. How could I sleep through gunshots?

Whoever was controlling my body must be doing a good job. Bullets were flying, but none seemed to hit me. Then again, none of my bullets seemed to hit the strange woman.

I was glad of that. She was so pretty.

I, or whoever was controlling me, kicked down the door to a hotel. The strange woman was hot on our heels.

"Comin' to get you, love!"

That made me smile. I dropped a strange little device on the ground and jumped into a room. Shots rang out, and I saw the little thing (was it a mine? The word seemed to float into my mind, but I could not figure out what it was) get blown to pieces. The beautiful brown-haired woman jumped into the room. The trap was sprung; the blue-skinned woman that controlled me jumped out, slamming into the brown-haired beauty, pinning her against the wall.

The pretty brown-haired woman was breathing deep. So was I. This fight, it was exhausting, but my heart was slamming in my chest. We were inches apart; I could feel her hot breath, smell her sweat, I could even feel the heat radiating from her. One of my hands held her wrists together, pinning them in place above her head.

"Got you," I heard myself say. A tight smile was on my lips. I do not remember smiling.

"Well, you finally did," the woman said. Her eyes were wide, as large as…as large as…what were they the size of? "Dead to rights."

I realized that my gun was pushed against her stomach.

Please, do not kill her, I like her.

"Now you finally know who is better," I could hear myself say.

"Then why ain't you finishing this?" The pretty woman asked. "You could've killed me a dozen times over. So why not now?"

I could feel myself smiling.

"Do you not know? You keep your friends close…"

We were so close, but it caught me by surprise when the woman, when I, leaned forward to kiss her.

Our lips locked; hers were so full, so delicious…when I broke the kiss, I only wanted more.

"…and your enemies guessing."

Footsteps rang out in the hallway.

"Tracer, sound off," an old man barked. "Tracer!"

"Hmm. Until next time, ma chérie," the strange woman who controlled my body said. We left the pretty woman, too stunned to move. I could feel my rifle be brought to bear. It shot out a window, and we leapt out, a grappling hook catching the building next to us.

As we swung away, I could see people moving into the room.

I would meet that woman again. I had to.

* * *

Morrison laid down suppressive fire from the window while Fareeha ran in.

"Lena! Are you alright?" Fareeha said.

"Y-yea, just shaken, that's all," Lena stammered.

"You're all red; burning up," Fareeha said. "Need Angela to take a look at you?"

"Na, I'll be fine in a sec."

"It's a good thing we got here in time," Morrison said, slapping a fresh magazine into his rifle. "Any slower, you might've had a bad day."

"Damn shame," Lena said. "Almost got her that time…"


	8. Chapter 8

The smart watch on my wrist buzzed it's alarm, and I quickly slapped it off.

I got out of bed before realizing the room was too quiet. I stopped, but could not hear anything.

Talon never gave me anything outside of necessary items. A bed, a watch, clothes, my rifle, my visor. My rooms at their bases were always quiet. But something about this was…off. More quiet than normal.

"Salut?" I called.

No one answered. I expected that, but realized what had happened.

Amélie was finally gone.

Whenever I woke, I could hear her, in the back of my mind. Talking, pleading, praying to try and stop me from doing my job and taking lives. Even when she was quiet and not speaking to me, I could hear her, like she was moving around somewhere in the back of my mind. I would get bits and pieces of her, a memory here or a feeling there.

But now, she was gone.

Talon's scientists told me they could not truly get rid of Amélie, not outright. There had to be pieces of her to take from, pieces that were used to make me. It made sense; why create a new personality, a new me, when you could take bits and pieces from someone else? They had taken from her, rearranged her to make me, but I always suspected they kept Amélie around to torture her.

They said it was only a matter of time until Amélie was gone, that she was fading fast. The memories became less frequent, the feelings more and more subdued, washed out, and her protests grew quieter and quieter. But actually having her gone…it made me feel alone, truly alone.

I had never been truly alone. Even on deep cover missions, I could feel her in the back of my mind. For some reason, I hated this silence. I needed someone, and my mind immediately flashed to Lena.

The last few missions, I had stolen kisses. We had fought…non, we had went through the motions, we danced. I would move, she would follow, then we would be alone, and then…

I touched my lips, wanting to relive each moment we shared together, each flurry of passion in the middle of battle. She was so soft, so beautiful…

My watch buzzed again. The tiny display was flashing a reminder: I had a meeting to get to.

"Merde."

I grabbed my rifle and recon visor and left my tiny room. Both the rifle and visor were the only true things Talon gave me; I never let them leave my side.

I made my way through the small base. We were hidden in a tiny fishing village in Greece, and I could smell cooking food waft into the base. I could smell fish…

* * *

" _Here ya go, love!"_

 _Lena handed me a mess of paper. It was hot to the touch, and smelled so fresh I could barely make out the smell of fish; everything was fried batter._

" _So these are the famous 'fish and chips' I have always heard about," I said._

" _Can't have proper British food if ya don't have fish an' chips," Lena smiled, holding her own greasy wrap of paper._

 _I pulled apart the paper, and came face to face with five large breaded and fried pieces of fish, and warm fries by the dozen. It was a handful._

" _Come on, got to eat it while it's still hot."_

 _I took a bite, and the cod practically exploded in my mouth. It smelled of heavy batter and grease, but tasted so fresh._

" _Mon Dieu!"_

" _Good, ain't it?"_

" _It was not what I was expecting."_

" _Want to know the best part?"_

 _Lena pulled me close and kissed me._

" _Greasy kisses," she smiled, licking her lips._

* * *

Another one of Amélie's memories. I knew I should hate it; Talon programmed me to hate nearly everything about her, but the love she felt…the love that I was feeling…it was too powerful. It was intoxicating.

I had to have more. Maybe with the next mission, I could get her alone for more than a minute.

Finally, I arrived at the briefing room. Reaper was there, along with three Talon scientists. They even wore their clichéd white lab coats.

"Sit down," Reaper growled.

"Where are the team leaders?" I asked.

"I said, sit down," he snapped.

Talon conditioned me to obey superiors; not that I had much choice. I sat down.

"Eight sorties," Reaper said. "Eight missions. All of them failures."

"Mon Dieu, Reaper, we have achieved tactical objectives in more than half," I sighed dramatically. It was the best way to get under Reaper's skin.

"How many Overwatch soldiers have you killed?" He shot back.

Merde.

"In case you can't count, let me fill you in," he said. "Zero."

"I still have the highest kill count in Talon."

"For targets that don't wear the Overwatch blue."

I had to play it cool.

"That is because you make me go after Tracer," I sighed. "You want me to go after the biggest challenge again and again…does it really surprise you that my numbers have dropped, non?"

"You haven't even been trying."

"Like how you have not been trying to kill Morrison?"

Reaper always wore his damn mask, but I knew he was glaring at me.

"Thought so."

"I hurt Morrison," he said. "I get hurt by him. You? You go out, you shoot a lot, but have nothing to show for it. Nothing. We can't have that."

"Are you speaking in the Royal We again?"

"Your lip isn't helping. You're going to the Chair."

The word hit me like lightning.

"T-the Chair?" I could not keep the stammer from my voice. "Is that not taking things a little too far, non? Using a rocket to kill a mosquito?"

"Shut up," Reaper snapped. "I'm sick and damn tired of your excuses and failings. We're making you into someone who can do their damn job."

"But I do not need the Chair. I know Tracer, know her fighting style." I was pleading, my heart hammering. They were going to erase me, wipe me away. "Yes, she knows mine, but it is only a matter of time until she slips up—"

"Widowmaker, stop," one of the scientists said. "It's time for your Treatment."

Damn those geeks.

They had programmed the response deep into my brain. All it took was that phrase, my 'time for a Treatment,' and my body rebelled, it danced to their tune.

I could feel the conditioned response slam into me. I was told it was the first imprint Talon gave me, and by far, the strongest. My heart slowed, my mind turned to mush; I could only obey.

"Oui, a Treatment sounds lovely," I could hear myself say.

Under the influence of the Treatment, I lethargically got up. One scientist took my rifle and visor, another took my hand and guided me to the door.

"I'm looking forward to seeing you back in top shape," Reaper said. I glared at him as best I could; I hated the smug sound of his voice.

The scientists took me from the room, led me down the hall. We were going to the Chair.

They would take everything from me. They would take Lena.

Hatred bubbled in me. I could not let them take Lena from me. But I couldn't break the Treatment's hold on me; it held me fast, kept me from moving or properly thinking. It put me to sleep. I needed something to wake me up.

I needed to remember Lena. I needed to feel Amélie's love.

* * *

 _The holo-TV was playing a movie. Neither Lena nor I much cared for it; it was noise._

 _Lena looked at me with those beautiful eyes of hers._

 _I knew that look, and I knew I had to have her._

 _I pulled her in close, smelling her before kissing her and bringing her close…_

* * *

The memory was hot in my mind. My heart picked up, racing from the steamy memory. I could feel the Treatment lessening. Suddenly, I could move by myself. Amélie's love was so much stronger than the Treatment.

Think, damn you, think! We were heading to the Chair, and I needed to escape. The doors in the base were set to lock automatically; you needed an RFID tag to unlock the doors and move about freely.

They never gave me a tag. I was always herded around, given the barest of privileges. The only thing they gave me was a tracking device in my forearm.

I could not steal a key; Talon implanted its operatives with RFID tags in their hands, and I did not have anything to cut a hand off. Not within a few minutes, anyways. Once I found a way to escape the Chair, I would have at most a minute to make as much headway as possible.

We walked by a row of desks where more operatives worked. What they worked on, I did not know. But I saw something that could help me.

As we walked by one man, I reached out and grabbed a small, clear tape dispenser. With me under the influence of the Treatment and suitably in tow, the scientist no longer needed to hold my hand, so I was able to use both hands and pull a length of tape.

We walked towards a door, and the second scientist opened it. He placed his hand at the reader, and it chirped as it opened. I sprung forward, grabbing the door and opened it for them.

"Service with a smile," one of the women said. "Maybe we should keep that in the next Widow."

While she was talking, I quickly placed the tape over the door latch. My heart pounded as the tape flexed against the latch, but it held. The door closed behind me, and I gave it a quick push; it opened. The tape had held, and the door was kept from locking.

I did not know how long the tape would hold, but I had my way out.

We passed through two more doors; I held both open, secretly taping the latches open. Finally, we were at the room.

They opened the door, and the Chair waited for me. It was just as I remembered; it was not plastic, but rather made from thick stained wood with simple, rough pads. Thick, heavy leather straps were bolted to the arm rests and legs, to tie my hands and feet down. A crown of cables sat at the high-backed head rest, trailing from the Chair to a bank of computers.

A small wheeled table sat next to it, holding a tray of surgical tools, no doubt for cutting me open to get to any sub-dermal nodes. I dropped the tape, catching it on my foot, and gently kicked it to the corner of the room. No one noticed. Maybe I should have been a football player.

"Please, sit in the Chair," one scientist said. They still must think I was under the influence of the Treatment and subservient; instead, I was filled with love, and anger that they were trying to take this wonderful feeling from me. The joke would be on them.

I passed by the tray table, and quickly palmed one of the scalpels. I watched them place my rifle and visor on a nearby table.

The scientists strapped me down. One swiped an alcohol swap over my neck, then made deft cuts with another scalpel. It stung, but I bit my tongue. If I was under control of the Treatment, I would not have made a sound. Metallic clicks echoed through my skull as nodes were linked to implants. My arms and legs were bound, and the crown of wires were placed on my head.

"Let's see what's going on with our girl," one of the scientists said. They turned their back to me, and I slid the stolen scalpel out from under my hand.

Computers hummed, and I felt a gentle static wash over my brain. The Chair was working, but it was reading me. So far, it was not erasing me.

I made sure to carefully flip the scalpel in my hand. I could not drop it; I had one chance. The leather was thick, but the scalpel was sharp. I worked it back and forth, sawing through it as fast as I could.

"Alright, memories are coming up," the men and women said. They were simple voices, I paid them no mind. "Go back to marker thirteen. That should take us to the firefight a few days ago, right?"

"This isn't a playback feature, these are memories. We'll hunt around and see what we can find."

I was halfway through the first strap. My heart was pounding in my chest.

"Whoa, cut down on the eye-jumps, you'll give me motion sickness."

"Better?"

"Loads. Alright, we got a firefight. Nice work."

"You rummage through her head a few times, you get to know the place pretty well."

I sawed through the first strap. With my hand free, I went to cut my other hand free.

"Alright, guns out, shots fired—shit, she wasn't joking about Tracer. How does she not get motion sickness when she does that teleporting thing? Ugh."

"So far, looks like our Widow is right. Shit, what can we do to boost her anymore? Reaper won't like it if Tracer keeps getting out of this."

I had to move faster. The three scientists were reading my mind; they would see what happened when I caught her.

"Alright, moving into a hallway, limit movement, good, good…hey, she got her!"

"What the fuck?"

I cut through the second strap. Both my hands were free; I went for the leg straps.

I could not help myself. I looked up. The scientists were watching me talk to Lena, then lean in to kiss her.

"What. The. Fuck."

Go, go, go, go…

"What are you seeing?"

"Brainwaves are off the chart, heart racing…shit, this isn't in the models we programmed."

"No shit this isn't in the models! Widow is fucking kissing a girl!"

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"This is a model we haven't expected. This isn't fear, or hate, it's _arousal_. We got her to hate her husband, but forgot to block her general fucking arousal."

Finally, I was free. I pulled the nodes from my head and jumped at the closest scientist, dragging the scalpel across her throat. Blood spilled out in great gouts.

"It is not the only thing you forgot."

"Alarm! Get to the-!"

Talon made me fast. Faster than normal humans, and aside from being very smart, the scientists were very normal. I threw the dead scientist down, jumped at the second. The scalpel pierced his hand, and I snapped his neck. The third one hesitated; I took the scalpel and stabbed her in the eye. I cut her throat for good measure.

I stood over the dead scientists, their blood pooling at my feet. I had to move. My eyes scanned the room, until they landed on one of the many cameras mounted in the corner of the room. Talon always kept me under lock and key; the only true privacy I had was in the restroom and shower.

"Do not get between l'araignée and her love," I spat at the camera.

I ran to my rifle and slipped my visor on. I had a minute, maybe two, until someone watching the cameras saw the bodies and watched the footage. I did not know where to go, but I could not stay here.

I cleaned my hands on the scientist's coats, then I was out the door. I took a deep breath and made myself calm down. I walked tall, shoulder blades touching. I was in charge; at least, that is how I tried to look.

As I walked through the base, other Talon personnel walked past me. They paid me no mind.

One minute had gone by. I had to move faster.

I came to the third door I taped open. I pushed the door open; the tape had held. I pushed the door too hard, and almost knocked over a mousey man.

"Watch it," he said. I glared at him, and he shrunk away. It did not matter, I was getting closer to freedom.

The second door was seven meters ahead of me. I walked faster, pushing past the odd Talon pencil pusher.

The door opened without any problem.

Mon Dieu, bless whoever created cellophane tape.

The last door was ten meters from me.

Alarms blared, red lights flashed. I looked at my watch; one minute and twenty seconds. Damn.

I ran for the door.

"We are under attack," I yelled at whoever Talon worker was near me. Hopefully I could distract them, create an uproar to help me slip away, sew some misinformation. "Get to your stations."

The men and women scattered, running and screaming. Perfect.

The last door opened, and I was in the main office room. An emergency exit was by the side. It would lead to the streets of the Greek city, and to my freedom.

An armed Talon tactical team burst into the room. Reaper led them.

"Merde."

"I fucking knew you went bad," he yelled.

I was quicker to the draw than he was, but only barely. My rifle was on full auto; I sprayed wildly, running to the door.

Reaper turned to his strange mist-like wraith form; my bullets passed through him harmlessly. The Talon assault troopers behind him, however, were not so lucky.

Bullets filled the air, men and women screamed. I ducked and ran for the door, throwing myself against it. I could feel the bullets flying around me; pain burned my arm and leg; I was hit.

But I was out the door.

Gunfire echoed through the tight streets of the Greek village. It was still early morning, and people were going about their day. Men and women looked around, as if confused by the gunfire.

I planted a venom mine at the door and emptied the rest of my clip into the door, just to keep their heads down. I tried to walk away, but all I could do was limp.

My covering fire kept Talon at bay, but it would not last for long. I limped down the street, looking for a knife. Talon had implanted a tracker in my arm; I needed it gone, otherwise all of this would be for nothing.

Reloading as fast as I could, I limped on, then poured more covering fire at the entrance. Fortunately, there was a food stall nearby. Three men was serving fish; seeing my rifle had shocked them, rooted them in place. Luckily, I did not need them, I needed a knife.

I limped over, slapping my rifle on the food cart. I grabbed the knife and quickly wiped it on their shirt to get the fish guts off. I placed my arm on the cart; the tracker was imbedded in my right forearm; I could see the slight surgical scar that was covered by my first tattoo. I had gotten it when I completed my first assignment, when I assassinated Gérard.

The tattoo read "Araignée du soir, Cauchemar," and the tracker was in the tail of the 'u.'

I hesitated, but only for a second. The tip sunk into my arm, and I bit my tongue to try not to scream. The men screamed for me. Seeing my gun shocked them into silence, but seeing me cut my arm open was too much for them.

I dug around, trying to hold back tears. I had to do this.

I had to see Lena again.

There was a small explosion from the door. Someone had tripped my mine.

"I hope it hurts," I spat as I twisted the knife.

Something metallic hit the blade. There. I threw the knife away and reached into my arm. The tracker was only a few centimeters long, but after digging through my arm, it seemed much larger. I threw the tracker away and grabbed a dirty towel from one of the men. It was not clean, but it would have to do to stop the bleeding.

Just as I wrapped my arm up, gunfire made me duck. Reaper was leading the charge to capture me. His shotguns tore up the food stand, hitting one of the men. I screamed as buckshot tore into my left arm.

I grabbed my rifle with my right hand. My aim with one hand was terrible, but I was able to pepper Reaper at least a little. He faded away as a wraith, but I could definitely hear him grunt in pain before.

Running as best I could, I made my way through the tiny village. By now, the gunfire was echoing through the buildings. Men and women were running, children crying, it was all very dramatic.

Blood dripped down both my arms. I cradled by rifle in my useless left arm as I tried to slide another clip in. I could hear boots pounding the ground; Talon was close. All I had to do was get to the water, find a ship, and escape.

Bullets hit the building around me, and I threw myself to the ground, crawling to get around a corner. I tapped my recon visor, and I could see just how close Talon was to catching me.

I could almost hear Lena's laughter. It kept me going.

There, ahead of me, was an overhang that looked out towards the ocean. My legs refused to cooperate, they only cried in pain. I launched my grappling hook at the side of a building. It nearly tore my arm from its socked, but it pulled me closer and closer to the water.

Reaper's shotguns roared. I was out of range, too far away to truly hit, but I was still peppered. Shot dug itself into my back and legs.

Screaming, I threw myself over the cliff. Water and boats raced towards me.

I was free.


	9. Chapter 9

Lena stared out at the window of the lounge, watching the storm rage against the Straits of Gibraltar. She held a big cup of tea, sipping it as she watched the storm.

"Relaxing?"

Lena looked up. Angela walked up to her. She pointed at an empty chair by her.

"It's everyone's lounge, love. Feel free."

"I always remember you liking to storm watch," Angela said, sitting down.

"Keeps me mellow. You ain't a fan?"

"Storms…I never liked them as a girl," Angela said. "It's all so big and powerful, it could destroy you in a second. I never knew how you find it peaceful."

"Part of bein' British. You get used to storms," Lena laughed. "The great UK doesn't have a lot of sunny days, especially with all the climate change an' whatnot the boffins keep talking about."

"So you are feeling good then, yes?"

"Ah, I know where this is goin'. The doctor's making a house call," Lena said, setting her tea down. She turned to face Angela, absentmindedly fiddling with her chronal accelerator. "What's this about, love? Seeing how Tracer is holding up with the battle stress?"

"The last few missions…you have been very close to death," Angela said. "You are always going your own way to find Widowmaker, to try and stop her, but every time, you are getting closer and closer to death. Why do you force yourself to take such dangerous missions?"

Lena smiled.

"I just like playin' with fire. You know me."

"This goes beyond playing with fire," Angela said. "We are all worried; me, Fareeha, Ana, Winston, and you can bet that Jack is beside himself. He's been trying to keep you grounded."

"He knows I'm good at holding back Widow," Lena said. "She barely killed anyone since I started going after her."

"And how long will that last? Jack saved your life twice now; he might not be there for a third."

 _If only you knew what we were doing,_ Lena thought.

"Look, I like this," she said. "The playing, the fights, it's fun. And knowing that no one has to die because of me, that just makes it better. I need this, Angela. It's almost like I'm getting closer to—"

Klaxons blared and light flashed throughout the base.

"What the—"

"It's an intruder alarm," Lena said. "Someone's comin' knockin'. Get your caduceus, love, we gotta get ready."

Lena blinked, teleporting through the base. She ran to her room, stopping to grab her two pistols, then ran to the entryway. Jack and Ana were the first ones to respond, but Zarya was hot on their heels. Lena always wondered how she could move with such a massive cannon.

"What's the status?" Jack said, slapping a clip into his rifle. "Winston, you on heads?"

 _Just got here,_ the scientist said. Winston had built a radio into her chronal accelerator; she was always ready to get into a fight. _Motion detectors and thermal went off; someone's walking to our gate._

"This isn't a false-positive?"

 _Motion is part of it, but if heat signatures are below a certain point, nothing is tripped. Something out there is warmer than the air, and human-shaped to boot._

"Think the UN finally came to shut us down?" Ana asked.

 _If this was the UN, we'd see UN helicopters and boats; there would be a whole army. This is one person._

Fareeha and Angela arrived next. Fareeha was without her armor, but carried her rocket launcher. Lena looked around; no one was in their proper armor or uniforms. Even Zarya, a stone cold professional, was still in her workout clothes. This was a reaction, not a mission.

"We find out who's out there, and we hold the line until reinforcements are ready," Jack said. "This could be Talon looking to settle a score. Stay back, and don't get killed."

The doors to the building opened, and they ran into the main courtyard, the cold rain quickly cutting Lena to the bone. Lena could see the spot where Winston had loaded up the satellite that called them back to active duty. Only instead of a satellite on a sled, there was one lone figure.

"Amélie?" She gasped.

Standing in the rain was Widowmaker. She was soaking wet; drenched bandages covered her arms, legs and head. Each bandage was stained red, but she was able to stay upright. Her left arm hung by her side, useless. With her other arm, she held her rifle by the receiver above her head, the universal symbol for 'don't shoot me.'

"Drop it!" Jack yelled, bringing his rifle to bear. "On the ground!"

"I—I want to talk to Lena," Widowmaker mumbled.

"He said drop it," Fareeha bellowed. She advanced on Widowmaker with Jack. "Get on the ground, or I put you down!"

"Fareeha, hold on," Lena said.

"'Hold on?'" Fareeha spat. "This bitch thinks she can come here and mess with our heads? Get on the ground!"

"She's surrendering," Lena pleaded. She gasped as Widowmaker tried to kneel. It was obvious her legs were cut up; she was barely moving. She stiffly fell to one knee. Lena realized that Widowmaker was staring at her, and her alone.

"I want to talk to you, Lena."

"Come on, everyone ease up," she said, holstering her pistols. "She's surrendering to us."

"Is this the woman who tried to kill Ms. Amari?" Zarya asked.

"Yes, she is," Ana said.

"She tries to kill a hero? For what?" Zarya said, anger in her voice.

"Everyone, come on, she's givin' up," Lena said, stepping in front of the advancing Russian. "No need to go pointing guns at her."

"Lena, what are you saying?" Jack said. "She's a killer. Stop standing up for her. Winston, is there anyone else here?"

 _Not that I'm seeing. Only one person on whatever mission she's trying to pull._

"Mission? She's surrendering!"

"Lena is right," Angela said.

"What?"

Lena was the only one who didn't yell. Everyone, Fareeha, Jack, Ana and Zarya, were staring at Angela. The rain plastered her hair to her head, but she held her caduceus tightly.

"Widowmaker is surrendering to us," Angela said. "And she clearly needs a doctor."

"I don't want a doctor," Widowmaker said. "I want Lena."

"Lena isn't a doctor, I am. And you need medical attention."

"Angela, she tried to kill my mom," Fareeha yelled. "She took her away from me! You know how much it hurt me, how much I cried. How can you help her?"

"Because I am a doctor, and I swore an oath," she said. "'I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures which are required.' It is my oath as a doctor; she is injured, and in need of my help."

"She's a killer, Angela," Ana spat.

"And she is surrendering to us," Angela shot back. "That does not make her a hostile combatant, it makes her an injured woman. So long as she does not move to hurt us, I have to heal her."

"Angela, please," Fareeha begged. "She tried to kill my mother."

"I know, my love. I know," she said, "but I cannot simply chose who gets to be healed and who does not. As a doctor, I have to do this."

Angela walked towards Widowmaker.

"Lena, a hand, please."

Lena ran over, not bothering to user her blink ability.

"We have to be gentle," Angela said. "It is clear she's been shot. I do not know how bad, but I am assuming it is very bad. Help her to her feet."

Lena wrapped Widowmaker's right arm around her shoulders, while Angela took her left. As one, they gently pulled Widowmaker to her feet.

"I traveled so far to see you," Widowmaker whispered. "So far."

Angela looked at Lena, but held her peace.

"Jack, you will need to open doors for us," she said.

"I'm keeping her under a damn close watch, that's what I'm doing," he snarled. "She might not be an active combatant, but she is still our enemy. We're treating her as a potential plant."

"So long as you don't get in my way."

Together, they helped carry Widowmaker into the base. Fereeha was shaking with rage.

"Angela," she said through clenched lips. "I can never hate you. But I hate what you're doing."

"I know."

"I love you, and I love your conviction. But you have to know that what you're doing is killing me."

"I do," she said. "And I am so, so sorry. Come on, Lena. We need to get her to the operating room."

* * *

I had to give credit to the doctor, she knew what she was doing.

I sat on the simple operating table, fiddling with the fresh bandages. This 'Angela' had balked a little when I refused to be knocked out, but she was good enough to only give me local anesthesia. Then it was to business.

She spent nearly two hours pulling buckshot and bullet fragments from my arms, legs and back. A few had even gotten into my face, which would explain why it had hurt so much to talk.

Dozens of stitches and a healthy dose of the strange caduceus staff of hers, and I was feeling almost perfectly good.

Now that the adrenaline of the past four days had worn off, I was left alone in my mind with Talon's conditioning.

They never wanted me to run off, so had programmed me to have a massive panic attack at the very thought of turning traitor. Now that I was officially rogue, my heart was hammering wildly in my chest, demanding that I return to Talon.

But I had Lena. She was just outside the operation room. That helped. It helped so much. It made me feel the love that Amélie had for her.

Non, not Amélie's love. This was my love now, and it filled me with warmth.

"She's fine for now," Angela said from the other side of the door. "But during my work, I found…it is scary what Talon did to her. What they changed, what they added."

If she was talking so close to me, then she did not know that Talon outfitted me with cholera implants to boost my hearing. But she did not need to know that.

"Well, let's start with the obvious," Morrison said. I wondered if he knew how much Reaper talked of killing him. "Why is her skin blue?"

"They genetically modified her," Angela said. "Her heartbeat never rose above fifty, her temperature never rose above thirty degrees. A slower heartbeat, lower core temperature, it all turned her skin blue."

"Jesus." That was Lena, my love. I might be able to hear through the door, but I had no idea who was out there. I could hear feet shifting on the tile floors, so there had to be six at least.

"It must have been beyond painful…"

Angela had no idea.

"…But, as best as I can see with her altered biology, she will make a full recovery. She might have some lingering nerve damage in her left arm, but nothing that should impair her long-term health."

"That's great," Lena said. "Er, I mean, she went through hell gettin' here. Be a shame to kick the bucket now."

"Why are you so happy, Lena?" Now it was Grand-mère Ana. I thought I had put her down. Part of me wanted to correct that mistake. "You have been fighting Widowmaker for so long now. You should be furious."

"I—er, well, I got the feelin' she's more Amélie than Widowmaker now," she stammered.

"What do you mean?" This time it was Grand-mère Ana's daughter, Fareeha.

"It's…kinda hard to explain?"

"Try us," Morrison said. "You've been going after her for more than half a dozen missions. You've nearly caught her, and you've nearly been caught _by_ her. You've seen what she does to her targets. You were there when she assassinated Tekhartha Mondatta at King's Row. Why stand up to for her?"

"She…she…she still reminds me of Amélie."

"You should know that Amélie is dead," Morrison said.

He was right.

"But she's in there," Lena said. "Somewhere, maybe only a bit of her. But she's there, and that's the woman I fell in love with."

"So you love the woman they made her into?" Grand-mère Ana said. "Lena, sweetheart, you need to move on."

"Give me one good reason why I should think she wants to come over to our side," Morrison said. "Especially after she nearly killed you a few times over."

Lena mumbled something. Even with my cholera implants, I could not hear her.

"What?"

"She never really tried to kill me," she mumbled a little louder.

"What do you mean? The last two missions she was practically on top of you."

Oh, I _was_.

"We…we were snogging…"

My poor little Lena. She must be burning bright red. I couldn't help but giggle.

"You want to run that by me again?"

"We weren't tryin' to kill each other, we were snogging."

"Snogging?'"

"Yea, ya know, kissing."

"You went and _kissed_ her?" Morrison raged.

"…she started it."

I _did_ start it.

"So you break mission protocol to go play 'Seven Minutes in Heaven' with an assassin?!"

Lena must be so embarrassed right now.

"Alright, fine," Morrison said. "There's a dozen things wrong with this, but let's ignore the big one, you are _literally_ fraternizing the enemy, and start from the top: you are 'snogging' in a warzone. Who the fuck goes around kissing people in the middle of a firefight?"

I could not see through walls, not without my visor, but there was a _very_ pregnant silence.

"Jack," Angela said with a smile, "do you _really_ want us to answer that?"

"You can't be serious."

"To many people, adrenaline and life-and-death situations are an aphrodisiac," Angela said. "And Overwatch is very good at attracting those kinds of people."

"Fareeha? Don't you tell me you—"

"Sorry, dad…" she mumbled.

Oh, c'est trop pour moi. I couldn't help but laugh.

"Goddammit, this is insane," Morrison said. "Fareeha, you're an Overwatch baby. You might not be in the service, but you should know the first things about—Goddammit Zarya, not you too!"

Zarya? That big, pink haired Russian? Oh, I wish I could see her squirm!

"I—Mei and I just started dating," she stammered. She must be a lovely shade of pink. I wish I could see her face. "She's my girlfriend. My first girlfriend. And, and she's very pretty. Very, very pretty. And sometimes—sometimes she gets this look in her eyes, even in battle, and…"

"You're a professional soldier! You should know better than this!"

"S-Sir, this solder recognizes her failings and will be sure to correct them, sir."

"And the rest of you! Next time we're out on a mission, you keep it in your damn pants!"

"You are no fun," Angela pouted.

"Overwatch is a peacekeeping organization, not some dating club! Fucking insane," Morrison grumbled. "Well, guess what, Lena? With your little tonsil-hockey sessions, you just volunteered."

"For what?"

"For getting Widow in there to spill her secrets," he said. "She's a Talon agent; she knows things. We need to know if she really wants to come over; otherwise, she could be a plant, a double agent. If Talon found out about you and her, they could be using you for her cover.

"Get her to spill the beans; give up bases, plans, intel, anything. Get her to prove she wants to come over here, otherwise I'll be forced to treat her as a spy."

The humor was sucked from the room; I did not know what Overwatch did to spies, but from the silence, everyone out there knew. Lena would be questioning me. I wanted to tell her things, but Talon's conditioning was too strong. I did not know what I could help her with.

"Sir," Lena said. A second later, the door to the operating room opened, and Lena walked in with a massive grin and a bigger swagger.

"Hey there, love! Funny how we keep running into each other."

"Quite," I smiled. She did not need to know about my hearing, or that I knew what she was coming for. I stared at her, drinking in all her features and lovely curves.

"You gave us quite the shock, coming over here."

"I had to see you."

Lena's composure slipped. I saw her, for a split second. I could feel the love in me, and I could see the love in her.

"I bet you say that to all the girls who speak up for you," she laughed.

"Only the British ones."

Lena looked like she was about to say something, but stopped. I took her hand. It was so soft, too soft for a soldier. I ran it across my face. I missed feeling her close.

"Only the _pretty_ British ones," I said.

"Amélie, what are you doing here?" She whispered.

"I told you, I am not Amélie. And I am here to see you."

"But why?"

"Talon found out about us," I said. "They wanted to erase me, to take this love from me. I could not have that. I would not have it. I had to have this, to have you."

If only Lena knew how true it was.

"H-how did you get here?" She asked. "Talon wouldn't have liked you leaving."

"They did not," I said. "They tried to kill me. I was able to jump into the ocean, stowaway on a boat. That boat went to Italy, and a boat from there went to Morocco, so I stowed away on that. From there, I stole a car, and made my way here."

"I know you're not Amélie, not anymore, but can I still call you that?"

"Non. I am Widow."

"Widow…they think you're a spy," she said.

"I am not."

"They want you to prove it."

"How?"

"They need you to give them info on Talon," she said. I stiffened, the conditioning making me lock up. "Bases, plans, all that good stuff."

"I…I cannot."

"Widow, please."

"Non, you do not understand. Talon made me unable to tell you. My mind, they put blocks in. I cannot talk about it; it hurts too much."

Lena took my hands and pulled me close. She kissed me, then put her forehead against mine. Her eyes were filled with pain.

"Do you love me?" She asked. "Like how Amélie loved me?"

"I love you _more_ than Amélie loved you," I said. "She knew someone else, loved someone else. I only love you."

Lena laughed.

"Amélie always said that in another life, we would be together," she said. "I didn't know it would be so literal."

Then she looked at me. She was hurting.

"They'll never let us be together if you don't tell them something."

Pain hit me. At first, I thought it was Talon's conditioning, making me clam up, keep their secrets. But it lasted too long, hurt too much, cut too deep.

I could not bear to be from Lena. To have them keep me from her…Talon's conditioning was not as nearly as painful as the thought of being kept from Lena.

I started talking.


	10. Chapter 10

Tree branches were blown about as the a helicopter spun around for a landing. It touched the ground in a small clearing between thick woods and an abandon factory. Boots hit the ground as the six men and women of Overwatch jumped out, guns drawn and sweeping the area.

"Clear front," Jack called.

"Clear right," Ana said.

"Clear left," Zarya said.

"Well, I have to say, this is not the kind of reception I was expecting," Winston said. He was the only one to casually step out of the helicopter.

"At least Talon picked a pretty spot," Mei said. "I always found Germany's Black Forest hauntingly beautiful."

"I think it's scary," Fareeha said. "They were able to set up shop in Germany, nearly in Switzerland. We're only a dozen kilometers from Zurich; that's Angela's home town!"

"Talon has to be good at hiding in plain sight," Jack said, pointing at the building ahead of them. "Just look at it. It looks like an old, rundown factory."

"Get behind me, I shall cover our entrance," Zarya said, moving to point.

"Take Mei with you," Jack said. "And try not to lock any lips, okay?"

"S-sir!"

"Ignore Jack, sweetheart, he's giving you a hard time," Ana said.

"Thank you, ma'am."

The building was indeed made from a run-down, abandoned factory. Zarya led the way to the front door, and gave it a heavy kick. The rusted hinges gave way, groaning their protests. Winston was next, sweeping the room with his Tesla cannon.

"Nothing," he said.

"Widowmaker said there was an entrance to the facility somewhere," Mei said.

"Think this is it?" Zarya said, pointing to a cabinet. It hung open by the barest inch; she pulled it open, revealing a hidden doorway.

"Sure looks like it," Jack said. "Let me run point."

"I'll make sure you don't hurt yourself," Ana said.

The group moved into the doorway. Suddenly, the building wasn't a rundown factory, but rather a sophisticated base. Cubicles lined some of the walls, with hallways leading to window-lined laboratories.

Everything in the facility was destroyed. Laboratory equipment was smashed, with glass scattered everywhere. Odd papers littered the ground, and destroyed computers were thrown about.

"Sure is smoky in here," Mei coughed.

Dozens of metal barrels were placed throughout the facility. All were smoldering, spewing smoke and soot into the air.

"Looks like someone left in a hurry," Fareeha said, walking among the destroyed chaos that was scattered about the facility.

"Smashed computers, burned papers, this is a textbook slash-and-burn op," Jack said. "Talon is trying to cover their tracks."

"So…Widowmaker is telling the truth then?" Mei asked.

"She can't be," Fareeha growled. "This is just a play."

"I don't think it is. Look at the computers," Winston said. He set his cannon down and shifted through the wreckage. "They pried the hard drives apart, destroyed the platters, broke the memory chips. They don't want _any_ data to fall into our hands."

"Shit, looks like she wasn't blowing smoke up our ass," Jack said.

"Jack, you cannot be serious," Ana said.

"I'm Strike Commander; I have to be objective," he said. "Look at this. Talon took everything they had, and completely trashed it, all to keep us from getting it. And this is only one base; Widowmaker gave us thirteen locations. Even if Talon destroyed all this data and left nothing for us, this is a huge setback. That alone is worth the price of coming over."

"So you will forgive her, just like that?"

"I never said forgive," Jack said. "I said she wants to come over to our side."

"Bullshit she does," Fareeha said. "This is a play to get close to us."

"A wise man once said, 'trust, but verify,'" Jack said. "I sure as hell don't trust her, but this is all the verification we need."

"All it takes is to disrupt Talon's operations, and all is forgiven?" Zarya asked.

"Messing their shit up is a start, but it's not all," Jack said. He walked over to a still smoldering barrel. "Back during America's…ill-advised War on Drugs, the narcos in the cartels were always on the run from police. Sure, they had their share of informants in the police to give them a head's up when a bust was heading their way, but there was a saying: 'to make a clean getaway, the naros had to be lucky every single damn time.'"

He kicked the barrel over, spilling ash over the ground. With his boots, he rummaged around and pulled out pages and pages of only slightly-burnt papers.

"'But to the police who hunted them, they only had to get lucky _once._ '"

"Talon really did leave in a hurry," Winston said, ambling over. "They torched everything, and didn't bother to verify everything was properly destroyed."

He leafed through the papers. All the papers were burned, but many were still wholly intact and legible. Some were simply singed.

"Anything we can use?" Jack asked.

"This is way too early to tell," Winston said. "There have to be almost a hundred pages that survived the fires."

"And that's just from one barrel," Mei said. "There have to be dozens here."

"A hundred pages per barrel, with over a dozen barrels, from thirteen bases," Jack said. "I'd have to say we got a pretty good change to find _something_ worthwhile in this."

"Alright, you made your point," Ana sighed.

"Mom, you can't be serious."

"Jack said it best: trust, but verify. It is hard to argue with thousands of pages of documents we could use against Talon. She truly wants to give up on Talon and come to the good side."

Ana sighed

"I don't like this any more than you do, Fareeha. But at least Lena will be over the moon."

* * *

The door to my 'cell' opened, and Lena pranced in. I have never seen her so happy.

"Guess what, love!"

"I can get out of this damn cell?"

"Cell? Come on, this is a hospital room."

"One which I cannot leave."

"Look love, you want the news or not?"

"Oui," I sighed. "Although I would like some real clothes. These hospital gowns do nothing for my figure."

"Ha! Don't worry, you'll get real clothes," Lena said. "You can even get a real room, and a real job if you want it."

"Pardon?"

"Jack just sent the word: the first base they raided was empty, but they found a boat load of intel they could use against Talon. They think the other bases are going to be just as helpful."

My breath caught in my throat. Talon's conditioning was screaming at me, but I was getting better at ignoring it. I was ignoring it because I had Lena in front of me.

"You mean…?"

"Yup," she smiled. "They don't think you're a spy."

"So…so that means…?"

Lena took my hands.

"I've been wanting this for years," she breathed. All of our other kisses were nothing like this one. There was no rush, no hesitation, just us.

Although, I did miss the bullets.

"Welcome to Overwatch, love."

* * *

Shots rang out as Talon operatives filled the air with lead.

"Gotta try harder than that!" Tracer laughed, popping into and out of existence as she gracefully dodged the shots.

Talon's agents focused their fire, forcing her to cover.

"Hey, boss man, that's your queue."

Talon soldiers were cut down by Soldier:76's gunfire. Rocket blasts rained from the sky as Pharah floated on her jet packs, Mercy hovering behind her.

"How we doing?" Soldier:76 said, sliding into cover by Tracer.

 _Ariel superiority has been achieved,_ Pharah said on the radio.

 _Such a shame,_ Mercy sighed. _I want to use my ultimate, but no one has died yet..._

 _And you called_ me _the scary one,_ Widowmaker sighed.

 _You are plenty scary,_ Ana said. A shot echoed, and a Talon mercenary fell. _When you are focused. My nanoboost is ready; who needs a shot?_

"Let's get ready for a push," Soldier:76 said. "Form up on me."

 _Oh,_ I _see,_ Widowmaker said. _Whenever g_ _rand-mère_ _shoots someone, everyone say 'merci.' But when_ I _shoot someone, all anyone says is 'Widowmaker, non! Widowmaker, what are you doing? Widowmaker, we needed that man alive!'_

"We _did_ need that Talon soldier alive," Soldier:76 growled.

 _Plaire, he would not have been taken alive. He was pulling the pin on a grenade; Talon conditions their soldiers well._

"Just as well as you?"

 _Talon soldiers do not have a beautiful woman to draw them away. I did you all a favor by killing that man._

Solder:76 gave Tracer a hard look.

"S-she's gettin' better," she stammered. "I swear."

"If this is 'better,' I don't want to know what was 'worse.'"

 _You know I can still hear you, oui?_

"That's the point, Widow. Is everyone in position?"

 _Affirmative,_ Pharah said. _Barrage is ready. Say the word, and I'll keep their heads down._

"Ana, boost me once Pharah pops her barrage. Pharah, you force them to cover, and I'll flush 'em out. Tracer, do what you do best: harass."

"Ten steps ahead of ya!"

"Widow, if there are any more grenades that are about to be pulled—"

 _I shall take them out._

"—Or you could tell me about it."

 _Spoilsport._

"Everyone ready?"

 _Getting into position,_ Pharah said. _Give me a few._

 _Right beside you,_ Mercy said.

Tracer looked behind her, to the tower where Widow was stationed. She changed the frequency her radio was on, switching to Widow's private radio channel.

"How you like bein' on our side, love?" She asked.

 _I do not care about 'sides,'_ Widow said. _But I do like being with you, for once. You are easier to kiss now._

"Not as fun, though."

 _We can make it fun, ma chérie._

"Now you're just usin' that scope to check me out, aren't you?"

 _Mmmm…_

 _In position,_ Pharah said. _Justice incoming!_

"Move!" Soldier yelled.

Tracer vaulted from cover as everyone jumped into action. Amélie had said they could be together in another life.

And she was liking this life.


End file.
